Grace’s pov
I shift shelter again, using a friend’s iapartmenttity—Alex won’t track me here.
The new apartment is small, but its south-facing windows pour in morning light like melted honey.
Standing at the window, watching werewolves clutch coffee and hurry by, I finally taste freedom. When I left the Brown pack, I took only papers and a card, leaving diamonds and gowns.
Calling Susan, her shriek nearly splits my eardrums: “Grace! You’re alive! The Browns hid you for Five years—I thought aliens abducted you!”
Leaning against the window, I chuckle: “A long story. Still designing?”
“Hell yes! My studio’s famous now!” She puffs up, then lowers her voice: “Why call? Trouble?”
My throat tightens, Five years of silence threatening to burst. “Need a fresh start. A job.”
“Be here tomorrow
